


Cupid is a lisping rugby player

by BlazeRiddle



Series: This just sort of happened [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fem!Sherrinford, M/M, Uni AU, University AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-05-06
Packaged: 2018-03-29 07:30:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3887593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlazeRiddle/pseuds/BlazeRiddle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has hallen in love with the brilliant man who keeps coming to his rugby practices. The only problem? He wasn't there for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cupid is a lisping rugby player

It was strange, John thought as he looked at the crowd benches, being in love with someone. Three rows from the top, the lanky boy with the unruly curls sat. The sun gave him a halo, made his face unreadable, those piercing eyes invisible, the pale white skin dark in contrast with the bright light.

Sherlock Holmes. They had Advanced Chemistry and Biology together, though John had no idea what the boy's major was. The boy was a genius, he was smarter than most of the professors, and he told the professors as much. It didn't make him very loved with his peers, but he didn't seem to care. In fact, the only person whom he seemed genuinely interested in was-

A rugby ball hit him square between his shoulder blades. He didn't need to turn to know who threw it.

"Russell, you arse." There was a suppressed giggle and he heard the ball being picked up.

"You've got to stop staring and _play_ , Watson." The girl said, punching his arm. "An it's Russelot. If you can't pronounce it, don't use it."

"I can say whatever the hell I want." He growled, turning swiftly to tackle her. She jumped aside. Sherrinford Russelot, a posh kid in on a science scholarship that for some reason had decided she liked rugby. She was good at it, too; quick as an arrow and with amazing aim. Sometimes, it was as if she could read someone's intentions from their face. She was as smart as one could be, too.

Since she had joined the team at the beginning of the semester, Sherlock had started showing up at practice.

Sherrin whistled and waved at the boy, and Sherlock moved, and John didn't need to close his eyes to imagine the smile on his face, a very tiny shimmer of jealousy stirring in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't not like the girl, though; she was too nice for that. Really, he could understand why anyone would come to practice for her.

" _Captain_!" She dashed forward, tackling him to the ground and bracing herself, her face inches from his. She smirked. "Focus, Watson, or I'll start doing your job."

He chuckled, shoving her off. Right. He was the captain of the rugby team. He should act like it.

"Finish your rounds." He ordered, shuffling up.

 

After training, John lingered on the field for a moment longer, folding some dirty towels and watching as Sherlock came down to the field, to where Sherrin was standing near him, downing a litre-bottle of water in big gulps.

"Sherlock." She dropped the bottle and turned to him. He bent and picked it up.

"You should drink more." He rumbled. His voice! It rolled over John like warm honey.

She huffed and rolled her eyes. "You should smoke less."

"Hypohydration." John smirked, his back turned to the two. The one-word sentences, the bantering... they were kind of cute together, though not really the typical couple. That feeling returned at the thought.

"Lung cancer." He said, turning and offering Sherlock his most winning smile. "Besides, she just drank a litre. You shouldn't complain."

Sherlock huffed. "Right."

"Indeed." Sherrin looked between the two, something akin to a smirk playing over her face. "'Lock, I need to dash. Got a science project to finish. Are we still up for tonight?"

"What else would you do?"

"Shut up." She slapped Sherlock's chest good-naturedly and dashed past him. "See ya!"

Well. That left them together on the field. Together. Alone. Well.

"She should drink more." Sherlock mumbled, looking at the ground. He pulled out a packet of cigarettes and let one dangle from between his lips. Those lips... John shook his head, chasing his thoughts.

"Sorry, what?"

"Sherrin." Sherlock quirked a brow and lid the cigarette and inhaled deeply. "She should drink more. That water's the first thing she's had all day." He put the packet away and scrunched up the bottle with both hands.

John frowned. "That's not... healthy..." there was a pause. John scraped his throat. "So.. you take care of her?"

"Yup." Sherlock exhaled a waft of smoke, taking care not to blow John in the face.

"So are you two close, then?"

"You could say that."

"Right." John sighed. "I should- shower, then." He fumbled with his stuff awkwardly before sighing again and making his way to the dressing room.

"John."

His stomach did a flip. _He knows my name! of course he knows my name, there's a name list for Biology._ He stopped and turned, slowly, trying to keep his face neutral. "Yeah?"

There was a little line between Sherlock's brows. _Cute_ , John thought, then immediately dismissed it.

"You could come with us." He said. "Tonight, I mean. We're going to go over biology. For the preliminary. It could be helpful. For you, I mean. To come."

John suppressed his smile. Sherlock Holmes, Master of Eloquence, was stumbling over his words. Why? He had a girlfriend. A very pretty one, with long curling hair and bright ocean eyes and freckles along her cheekbones. But mostly, someone to match his intellect. She was perfect for him.

"I wouldn't want to be the third wheel."

"You wouldn't be!" Sherlock hastened to say. "She loves explaining things, the more the merrier! _Not in that way_. I mean- she'd love it. If you came by. She likes you. _Not like that!_ She just- You're her captain and-"

A startled chuckle was produced, and John raised his hands in a calming gesture. "All right, all right, don't get your knickers in a twist." He dropped his hands. "If you're sure it's all right..."

Sherlock smiled, a rare and beautiful sight. "I'm sure." He frowned for a moment. "It's at her dorm, room 428. At eight."

John answered his smile. "I'll be there."

 

*

 

John was early. After he'd knocked on the door, there was a scramble before she let him in, a half-eaten pizza on her bed, her desk full of files that didn't seem to have anything to do with school. John frowned at them.

"Are those profiles?"

"Yup." She dropped the pizza on top of it. ""Want to see yours?"

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Is this a ploy to get me to storm off?" He asked, voice laden with amusement. She stilled, seemingly thinking.

"Not this time, no." At his frown, she smirked and dropped herself onto the bed. "Lock should be here any moment. He's always late."

"I'm early." He sat down next to her. "What's up with that nickname, anyway? Some sort of _lock and key_ kind of thing?"

She chuckled. "No, though that's a good one." She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. "He'd kill me, though, if I'd tell you."

John laughed. "That bad?"

"Yes. Besides-" She lolled her head on her neck, letting it pull on the muscles of her shoulders with a tiny _crack_. "-telling you would seriously damage my academic career." She was smirking. There was a knock on the door.

"It's open."

The door swung open, fast enough to hit the wall next to the bed, but Sherrin caught it swiftly right before it did. She glanced at the young man standing in the doorway. "Way to make an appearance."

"The door needed to be opened." Sherlock dropped himself in the room's only chair.

"You're _late._ "

"I needed to print the book." He pulled a stash of papers out of his bag, along with the book they used. "Seemed easier for you." He tossed her the papers. "Well?"

She rolled her eyes. "Biology." She glanced at the first page. "When two people either really like each other or are really drunk, they-"

Sherlock groaned. "Skip that part. Neurobiology, Sherrin."

 

*

 

The next day, John's first period was Chemistry. With Sherlock Holmes. After the evening before, he was almost giddy, anxious to see him again. When he entered the noisy room, he spotted the head of unruly dark curls immediately, like always - behind a desk already, moving up and down as the guy next to it talked animatedly to the person in possession of it.

Too close for comfort.

As he settled down himself, John studied the boy next to Sherlock. From what he could see of him, he was handsome - bronzed by the sun, his foul blonde hair perfectly messy, his teeth so white they nearly sparkled in the TL light. And, going by Sherlock's expression, he was interesting, too; those wonderful brows were furrowed just a bit, the tiniest hint of a smile playing around his lips.

That blasted smile.

John found himself staring as the class quieted down, and nearly missed it when the name was called out;

"Victor Trevor."

"Present, sir." The boy next to Sherlock smirked confidently. John swallowed. _Trevor_. He needed to know more about him.

And he just happened to know where to look...

 

He knocked on the door in determination. When she opened the door, still clad in her pyjamas at four in the afternoon and munching on a piece of left-over pizza, he practically pushed her aside, walking into the room without greeting.

"Victor Trevor." He stated, walking to her desk. "What do you have on him?"

She swallowed her pizza. "Rich kid." She answered. "Daddy owns some sort of multinational company. Came here after failing at three other universities up north. Thinks himself too smart for the system. _Really isn't_. Thinks he can become some famous economist or scientist, will most likely just follow in his father's footsteps. I can write it all down, if you like."

"Tha-" John suddenly frowned. "You haven't already?"

She shrugged. "Eidetic memory." She tapped the side of her head. "I write it all down for people like you."

John narrowed his eyes. "Do you have his timetable?"

"Sure." She sat down at her desk and pulled a blank paper from the stack, scribbling on it. "He's got Bio and Chemistry with you." She hummed in contemplation, as if she knew exactly what had been going on in his head that morning. "He also does economy, and performing arts, but that's it."

John nodded, humming. "Personal opinion?" He asked. She shrugged, handing him the paper.

"Haven't met him yet." She muttered, straightening the papers on her desk a bit. "Skipped class today." She yawned. "But, from his records, I'd say-" She paused, turned, stood to look at him, serious. "Whatever you're thinking, don't. Trevor is a powerful name and his daddy paid a lot of money for him to be here. Whatever bureaucratic mess you'll end up in, _he'll win_. He can buy his way out of _a lot_."

John nodded. "Why are you saying this?"

She arched a brow, but ignored the question. "His father funds the new Stage for the Performing Arts Class. Victor would need to actually _assault_ someone before anyone would take action." She stepped forward, herding him out of the room. He squinted his eyes at her.

"You know something."

"I do." She was already shutting the door in his face. "I know many things. Now scram." She clicked the door shut and he quirked a smile.

_Victor Trevor. You can tell me to stay away all you want, but I want to know more._

*

 

It happened on Saturday. There was a rugby game, the crowd benches filling up as the teams ran some laps around the field to warm up. Sherrin was stretching, her face deliberately to the audience to scare off the leering first years fighting over front row seats. After running his laps, John stood next to her, trying to find familiar faces in the crowd.

There he was. His halo of curls, his piercing sea-coloured eyes and sharp cheekbones were easy to spot even when turned away from the game and talking to...

The guy laughed boldly, touching Sherlock's shoulder as if it was natural, as if he did so every day. There was a low sound from next to John's knees and his head snapped down.

"Did you just _growl_?"

"I don't trust him." She muttered, just loud enough for him to hear, staring up at the two. "He's too smooth. No one is that _suave_ without hiding something." She held out her hand and he pulled her up. "Knowing his background, it's something big." She dusted herself off before giving the drooling people in the front row the finger and walking off.

"Come on, Cap, we got a game to play!"

 

They won. _Spectacularly,_ and in no small part thanks to Sherrinford, the team's tactic of passing the ball to her and letting her run paying off. When the chaos of the cheering crowds had dissipated, the team was left standing on the field, the familiar body standing from his seat and striding down to meet them - followed by _Trevor_.

Sherrinford straightened as they made their way to her, eyeing the newcomer carefully.

"Sherlock." She capped the litre bottle of water she'd been drinking from.

He looked at her down the tip of his nose. "You smell."

"Winning a game has that effect." She accepted a fresh towel from her captain and wiped down her face before straightening until she looked an inch taller than her length. "Who's your companion?"

Trevor straightened himself, looking her up and down, his mouth turning down. "Victor Trevor." He said, not offering his hand. Understandable, since she was drenched in sweat. She nodded.

"Sherrinford Russelot. Pleasure to meet you." She quirked a brow at him before turning and roughly towelling down her hair. John handed her the bottle of water.

"You should finish that." He half-ordered, glaring at her and trying not to notice the small quirk of Sherlock's lips. He turned to Victor, drying his hand before sticking it out.

"John Watson." He introduced. "We have Chemistry together."

Victor quirked a brow, but didn't take the hand. "I don't recall you."

"I try my best." John stared up at him for a long moment before turning to Sherrin. "You on for tonight?"

She shrugged. "Why not. It'll get you guys off my back."

Sherlock made that cute line between his brows appear. "Tonight? What are you doing tonight?"

"Pub." John smiled at him. "Celebrating. You can come, if you want." And, as an afterthought; "Both of you."

Victor looked down at him, his mouth now fully downturned. "I hardly think that-"

"We'll go." Startled, John focussed on whom should always be the focus of his attention, only to find him staring at his best football player. _Right,_ he reminded himself, _closeted couple. Try not to forget_.

Sherrin was beaming at him, suddenly shooting forward and hugging the guy. Sherlock seemed shocked, but didn't push her away until he sniffed her again.

"You stink."

She chuckled. "We'll go shower." She turned, tugging John along. "See you in fifteen, front gate."

"Got it." Sherlock offered them both a nod, Victor looking as if he had eaten a very sour lemon.

 

*

 

The pub was filled with happy teammates and friends, but the four managed to find an empty booth. After the first two rounds, the stiff studious presence that was Sherlock Holmes relaxed, nearly sprawled across the bench, his arm easily slung over Sherrin's shoulder. After the third glass, he got up, depositing a clumsy kiss in her hair as he did. She rolled her eyes.

"Lung cancer." She groaned, not looking as if she really cared. Sherlock swatted her against the back of her head in retaliation. Victor shot up, too.

"I'll go with you." He worked his way past John awkwardly before following the other man to the front door, walking just a bit too close for comfort.

John caught Sherrin watching them. _Well,_ he thought, _now's as good a time as any_. He cleared his throat, and she snapped her gaze to him.

"Sorry?"

"You and Sherlock?" John tried to sound casual, but he really, _really_ wanted to know if he maybe had a shot in hell. She frowned at him.

"What about- oh." She groaned. "Not you, as well." She stood. "I need more booze." She turned, then suddenly turned back and bowed to look him in the eyes. "Look, me and Sherlock is _not_ going to happen, for _several_ reasons. So have at it."

"Wha-" But she was already gone, lost in the crowd in search for more booze. John sighed and stood as well, good spots be damned. He wanted to know what that was about. He needed to find her. Probably at the bar. As he stood, though, he felt the pressure the beers and the water of the day put on his bladder.

 

When he returned, he moved straight to the bar to find Sherrin there, caged against the wall next to the counter by a now annoyingly familiar person. John just caught the tail end of his words.

"-notice you." Victor snarled as John came closer unnoticed.

"I don't want-" Sherrin began, but was interrupted.

"Keep telling yourself that." Trevor hissed. "He'll never fall for some stupid sporty kid wannabe cheerleader or whatever it is you are."

"I hope-"

"Seriously, I don't know why you keep up the act." Victor leaned more on his arms, seeming casual even if his words weren't. "Acting like one of the guys... You know no one cares, don't you?"

 _Okay, that's it_. John gripped the offender's shoulder firmly. "Oi." He said, pulling him back, "Might want to calm down there, Trevor."

Victor just sneered at him. "Stay out of it, Watson."

"John, don't-" She tried to create some distance by stepping between the two, but Victor pushed her back against the wall roughly.

"Stay back, bitch!"

The dull thud and crack of that fist hitting his face was very, _very_ satisfying, John decided, even as he shook the tension from his fingers.

"You don't talk to my best player like that." He stated, glaring up at where the prick was holding his bleeding nose. "Got it?"

Victor gasped. "You-" He groaned in pain.

 

"What's going on?" _Fuck_. John slowly turned to look up at those sea eyes. _Well, that ruins my reputation._

"John attacked me." Victor managed, a white handkerchief now covering his nose. "Jealousy, I believe." There was a twinkle in those eyes that made John want to punch him again.

Sherlock frowned. "Of _what?_ "

"Nothing but idiocy." Sherrin pushed off from the wall, her voice a bit rough. "Vic here was threatening me. Said he would get his father to get me expelled if I continued to hang out with you."

Sherlock's frown deepened, now tinted with anger as he turned to Trevor. "Really?"

"She's lying!" Victor exclaimed. "Don't you see? She's been spinning this _web of lies_ -"

"Might want to stop talking now." Sherrin advised. "Would I lie to you, 'Lock? About something like this?"

Sherlock's eyes widened as he looked between the three. "You-" He was blinking rapidly, staring at Victor. "I should call father."

"Don't." Sherrin stepped closer to him, close up into his space. "They don't need to know this."

"They could-"

"I can fend for myself, 'Lock, let me prove it for once." She turned before he could react, punched Victor in the stomach, and used him doubling over to pull him to her own height.

"Look, Trevor, in the past three days I've uncovered enough dirt on you to not only get you kicked off the school, but probably shunned from society."

"Wha-"

"Kitty and Rex, Trevor." She let him go. "I hope this teaches you not to mess with a Holmes, let alone _two_." She turned and started making her way thought the crowd to the exit. Without thinking, John followed, hearing the clicks of the wooden soles of Sherlock's shoes following him. Outside, the two caught up with her as she paused to take some calming breaths.

"Okay." John positioned himself between the two, ignoring the way Sherlock consolingly rubbed her shoulder. "What the _bloody hell_ is going on? Sherrin?"

She took a deep breath and set her jaw, refusing to meet his eyes. Sherlock squeezed her shoulder reassuringly.

"You don't have to." He murmured. She shook his head.

"I probably should." She took another deep breath and dared to meet John's eyes. "This would be a lot easier if I'd told you right away, but then again, there wouldn't be a point in keeping it a secret if I told everyone." She closed her eyes. "Russelot is my mother's maiden name. I use it because I don't want to be compared with my brother, by anyone. Sherlock and I aren't in a relationship because that would be _fucking messed up_." She took another deep breath. "Now that that's settled, I'm going to find myself a bed."

"I'll take you." Sherlock offered, but she glared at him.

"Nope. You're not." Some sort of humour made her eyes crinkle. "I'm going to take a long, calming walk and you're going to escort Watson home and _talk_. It's about time."

Sherlock scoffed. "Alone, at night? No."

She rolled her eyes, but raised her hand and a cab magically appeared. "Fine." She opened the door. "But you're taking the next one. Seriously, you two need to... do _something_ , before you drive me mad." She slammed the door closed behind her, and the cab pulled away moments later. John was left staring at it, baffled.

"What was that about?" He turned to Sherlock, who had conjured another cab. He stared at the open door. "Is that some sort of superpower?"

Sherlock quirked a brow. "Get in."

"Wha-" John got in the cab, shuffling to make it to the other side. When the door closed behind them, he turned to Sherlock. "What was she talking about?"

Sherlock didn't answer, but closed his eyes, seemingly preparing to broach a difficult subject.

"I'm her brother."

"I got that much, yeah." John nodded. "But what was that about you and me?"

Sherlock swallowed, a minor blush creeping up his neck. "She really wants you and me to become... _us_." It had come out strained, nothing more than a mutter. John could feel his heart flutter, and in a way, it made sense. The few conversations he'd actually had with Sherlock were always after the practices or games, when he'd come down to see Sherrin. Every time, she had made sure that he was at least near them, able to participate if he wanted to.

 _Have at it,_ she'd said. John suppressed embarrassed smile. _She knows_. He scraped his throat, deciding to just ask, now that they were at it.

"And, how do you feel about that?" He hazarded, studying the blush creeping higher up his neck.

"Does it matter?" He ground out.

"A bit." John thought that the blush now gracing the man's cheekbones was enough of an answer. Slowly, cautiously, he reached out, sliding his hand across the seat until the tips of his fingers touched Sherlock's. The genius' head snapped up, shock easily readable in those bright eyes as they met his.

"You-" Sherlock leaned his head against the headrest and chuckled. "That _bitch_." The happy, elated sound went on, and John frowned at him, confused. "That glorious, brilliant _bitch_." He turned to John, eyes merry. He sobered a bit at seeing the confused face. "She played us both." He explained, moving his hand to lay over John's, the blush permanent now. "She's been pushing us together since the beginning."

"What do you mean?" John turned his hand palm-up, lacing their fingers together, staring down at it. _Amazing_. He rubbed his thumb over the back of Sherlock's hand, mesmerised.

"She must've noticed... _it_ soon after I did. She joined the team right after."

"Giving you an excuse to come by." John answered Sherlock's smirk, understanding. "Brilliant."

"Yes." Sherlock squeezed his hand in his and fell silent, content to spend the rest of the cab ride in silence with that small, _adorable_ smile playing at his lips.

 

He walked John to his dorm room. At his door, they paused, awkwardness setting in for the first time. Sherlock offered him a shy smile.

"Now what?" His voice was soft, genuinely unsure. John smiled up at him, at those amazing sea-coloured eyes, the pale skin almost shimmering in the little light, that cupid bow of his lips...

_His lips..._

John stretched, stood up onto his toes, and pressed his mouth against those lips. He'd meant for it to be quick, reassuring, a small peck on his lips to make that uncertainty go away. As he stood back, those lips followed him, Sherlock hugging him close, energy exploding between them as their lips slid together wetly, easily, hungrily. Sherlock bit his lower lip playfully, pulling it as he moved back a little, letting go as he rested his forehead against his.

" _John..._ "

" _Yes._ " John scrambled to open his door without letting go of Sherlock. " _Yes._ Whatever it is, _yes_." He leaned his head back to accept another kiss, bruising, passionate, and John could suddenly see very clearly where the evening was heading. He wound his fingers into those _wonderful_ curls as Sherlock moved down to attack his neck, sucking, biting, licking, moving him backwards until the back of his knees hit his bed and then he was laying on his back, Sherlock above him, biting at his collar bones, moving lower, unbuttoning, licking, kissing until he got to that final button and zip, opening them and then

Utter

  _Bliss_

It took both of them a long time to recover from it, but they were both content to lay in John's bed, clothes unbuttoned and soiled, John's arm around Sherlock's shoulder and Sherlock's head on his chest, his arm slung over his middle. John chuckled suddenly and moved his head to kiss those curls.

"We should sent her flowers or something." He mumbled. Sherlock hummed, already coming close to the edge of sleep. John looked down to him, and moved away a bit.

"Wha''re you doin'?" Sherlock slurred, trying to pull him closer. "Sstop."

"Just getting us out of our clothes, love." John assured, shrugging off his own and pulling at Sherlock's trousers before pausing. "Oh my god."

Sherlock blinked up at him sleepily, uncomprehending. _Adorable_. "What?"

"You lisp." John dropped the trousers to the ground and lay back down, Sherlock snuggling back up at him. "It does explain the _Lock_ thing."

Sherlock hummed. "No." Lazily, he rubbed his lips against his collar bone. "She lisps, too. Couldn't pronounce my name."

John chuckled. "She's never going to hear the end of it."

Sherlock hummed. "Go to sleep, John."

"You, too." He pressed one last kiss to those curls. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight." Sherlock yawned, focussed on John's slowing breathing as he dozed of himself.

It was strange, he thought, feeling the warmth of John's chest radiate through his cheek, being in love with someone.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Let me know what you think of it in the comments, or send me a message in [my Tumblr askbox](blazeriddle.tumblr.com/ask) if you want. Also, feel free to leave any ideas or prompts for fics! :)


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